It's my space, but you're welcome to stay.

It’s such a cliche, but I’d love to start this letter like someone writing a postcard:

Wish you were here.

Today marks eight years since you’ve been here. And that sucks. It really, really sucks. Each year I think it’s going to get a little easier. It doesn’t. In fact, this year, it’s a little harder. You probably like the company, but let’s be honest, we’re not real happy about Tim being there with you. Gramma, OK, we kind of expected that, but not Tim. And certainly not now.

But, at the same point, you’ve got each other there, “in heaven” as Aidan would say. And he does say it, Dad. Every night at prayers, he talks about Papa O, Uncle Tim and Great Mimi O looking down on us from heaven. And, we still light candles at church every week. Do you hear him when he says, “we pray for you Papa O”? I hope you do.

I told him tonight at prayers that we had to say an extra prayer for you. He had one question. “What number is Papa O, dad?” He wanted to know how old you are. I told him. And he seemed happy.

You’d love him, Dad. I know you would. To see his mind work. I swear you can see him working things out, figuring them out. It’s such a great thing to say. And he’s having trouble making the ‘s’ sound, and a lot of times I think about how you would be able to help him sound it out and work it out. And I think about how you would have to hold back the laughter at some of the things he says and does. At his recall. Just amazing what he retains.

I think of you a lot, Dad, when he’s frustrating us beyond belief. Because, he is just 3.5. I think of how you never raised your voice. And if I feel myself doing it, you pop into my head almost instantly. Or I think about you when I try to give him my look. I can tell you that it certainly isn’t working on him (yet) like your look worked on me.

And, Dad, your new grand-daughter, Erin, would melt your heart. First, she was such a relief to us at such a horrible time, but you know that, don’t you? But, gosh, Dad, her smile is infectious. All she does is giggle and smile. Giggle and smile. She’s almost eight months now, Dad, and becoming such a little person. You’d love to play peek-a-boo with her. I know you would. She’s such a little girl, even now. But, my goodness, she’s this close to crawling. And then things are going to change around our house, that’s for sure.

I wish you could meet her. I wish you could hold her. I wish you could see how much happiness she’s brought to us. She really is our little angel.

Dad, we worry about Mom. She’s given us a couple of scares this year, most recently around Christmas. You’d be amazed though, she actually admitted that she was probably feeling the stress. Can you believe it? I mean, I know where I get my stubborn side from. She always says it’s from you, but I know a lot of it is from her. She held up incredibly well during Tim’s passing, but I think it’s catching up. Not just to her, but all of us. We try to get her to cut back on things, but you know how hard that can be.

The good news, though, is that Lynn, John and Lauren moved into the house, so now Mom is in the addition. It works out great for everyone, but that was stressful, too. And so was Gramma’s last year. But you could probably guess that. It was just a lot, Dad. More than anyone should have to go through.

I should write more. I’m sorry I don’t. It’s not easy. It hasn’t been for eight years. Not that I’m saying it’s easy on you, because I know that’s not true either. Oh, Dad, I don’t know what I’m saying. That’s the hardest part with this. It’s like I know today is coming. I just get in this funk. I look at the calendar and I’m like, oh yeah.

I want you to see everything going on. I want you to meet Aidan and Erin so much. Tim and Gramma can tell you about Aidan. I know they got a kick out of him. And Gramma was thrilled that Erin’s middle name is Margaret. That brought such a smile to her face.

Every day, Dad. I think about you every day. I miss you ever day. And in some strange way, it almost makes me feel like I’m closer to you. But at times I still get upset. Upset that you’re gone. Upset that I wasn’t there.

Pretty original title for this one, eh? Sorry. It’s the best I can do. What with the pressure and all!

But, first, thank you for telling me more about you. And, for telling me what you like about being here. I promise, more kid stories and pictures. There certainly will be plenty of those. If we still have kids. And, after yesterday, we thought about giving them away. Five a.m. wake-ups and no naps will do that to you.

But, then Erin smiles and Aidan says, “Drive carefully. I love you, Daddy” and all is forgiven. For now! 😉

For those of you that didn’t comment, that’s ok, too. I still like you. Honest. I’m just glad you’re out there, and that you, too, apparently find something here you enjoy.

And, for those of you who are here because you’re searching for Clink related things, I have two words for you: grow up. Unlike you, I’ve met her. And trust me when I say the searches you are doing for dirt or whatever are a waste of your time.

Now, I do have some good news to share. And, since a bunch of you wanted to know how Forty by F0rty is going, I’m going to give you a three-month progress report. I can’t even believe it’s been three months, by the way.

The quick recap: I turned 38 November 1. And, with that, I initiated my goal to lose 40 pounds by my 40th birthday. It’s a two-year plan. Actually, it’s a life-long plan, but I wanted to give myself a tangible goal. And I think I have.

I’ve definitely lost weight. I’m not sure how much. I didn’t step on a scale November 1. I roughly know where I started, but I didn’t want to get on scale until I start the exercise component — which I haven’t done yet. And that’s my goal for February. The time is so hard with the kids, but I can’t use that as an excuse. I’ve got to do it. And I will. And sometime in the next few weeks, I will figure that out.

But here’s the big news. Are you ready? You sure?

I’m wearing my skinny pants today. Yes, I’m a 38-year-old man with skinny pants. What’s the definition? Skinny pants, at least for me, are the pants I always used to wear. Except I couldn’t anymore because they were too tight and it would be nearly impossible to suck the gut in that much.

So, yeah for me and my skinny pants!

Is it the end of the journey? God no. But, in three months I’m back to wearing pants I used to wear more than a year ago. I feel really good about that. And, the jeans I used to order were ‘relaxed fit.’ Well, at Christmas, I got ‘natural fit.’ So, another sign of progress.

People have asked if I’m on a plan. I’m not. I’m just trying to be better. You know, don’t eat the two english muffins smothered in butter and peanut butter for breakfast and then get to work and go to the bakeshop for a heath bar muffin. So, now I eat one muffin for breakfast. And, instead of buying regular english muffins, we buy multi grain, which are a bit better.

Instead of regular granola bars, get the sugar free. Instead of cranberry juice, get the light cranberry juice. Instead of ice cream, get the light ice cream. Instead of regular soda, get the diet or the zero stuff. I mean, did you know Diet Barques Root Beer is actually better than regular? I know this now.

So, by no means am I wasting away, but I’m trying. I really am. It’s hard sometimes. Like yesterday, I had three chocolate chip cookies. Can I help it if my sister-in-law makes the best cookies ever? And I mean ever. And, can I help it if she sent a bag back to me (she lives in Florida) with my father-in-law who was visiting?

I know you can’t go cold turkey, but I’m trying to limit by splurges, too. And, since November 1, I’ve been to McDonald’s once and have only had donuts twice. This is big, people.

So, thanks to all of you for your words of encouragement. It’s good to know that I have that support. Heck, I might have even discovered my own online nutritionist — but more on that later.

I hope to let you know soon that I’ve got this exercise thing figured out. That’s the biggest challenge right now.

Thanks, loyalist of readers, for your words of encouragement chasing me from the recent funk.

You helped.

And so did being at the Patriots game yesterday. Forget about the temperature, the tailgating featured margaritas, captain and coke, tenderloin tips, scallops, lobster (yes, lobster) and baby back ribs. Did someone say Forty by Forty?

And, of course, these guys help every day.

Aidan in his new favorite jammies.

Look at me, Dad. I’m sitting up all by myself!

So they weren’t looking at the camera. Do you know how hard it was to just get this one?!

And some of it has put me in a mood that I’m not really happy about being in. But, that’s where this comes in. The whole point of this blog is a selfish one. It’s a place for me to vent a little bit. And, it’s fabulous when you enjoy certain elements of that because you either can relate or just think it’s interesting stuff.

And my intention isn’t to bring you down at all. I hate being in a funk. But, you know what, I’m in one. And I have to figure out how to get out. And, I will. Just bear with me. I mean, there are some of you whose stuff I haven’t read in a few days. I’ve sort of been batch reading and commenting lately. I haven’t disappeared. Just haven’t been reading as regularly as usual.

And, well, I suppose part of the reason I feel the way I do lately is death. I wrote about this a few days ago. It sucks. It totally sucks. Why? Well, today is my brother Tim’s birthday. So how do I not think about him today?

But, the thing is, I have twin brothers. So I have to call Tom and wish him a happy birthday. But how happy is it really going to be? The closest person to him, his twin, died. So how can he go through another birthday — something that is supposed to be happy — without thinking of his twin brother? And what the hell can I say to him to make it a happy day? I’m not sure there’s anything I can.

So, yeah, I got that going for me. And the worst of it, two weeks from today is the anniversary of my Dad’s death. Now here’s the thing, I don’t get incredibly emotional around my Dad’s birthday. I remember it, and I think about him that day (like I do every day), but I haven’t felt like this around his birthday that I do around Tim’s. And that’s what I can’t figure out. Is it because Tim’s was so sudden? Or because, as I’ve said, you kind of expect to bury a parent, but not a brother? I just don’t know.

So here I am in the dumps about my brother, and then I’ll be in the dumps about my dad in just a couple of weeks. And, oh by the way, I was just in the dumps about a family friend who passed last week.

I mean, come on. Are you kidding me? This is why I always say, “Grown-up stuff sucks.”

So, that’s my story.

A few positives though:

I got a ticket to the AFC Championship game on Sunday. Woo-hoo Pats!

I dropped Aidan off at pre-school today, and, yes, we got the green hanger. But, on the way out, I asked the teacher how he was doing, and her eyes sort of lit up.

She went on to say how he’s coming out of his shell more and more. He’s not always playing directly with the other kids, but he’s in their area now as opposed to being on his own before. And, I guess that’s a normal thing. But, she said he’s got a great sense of humor and that if one of the teachers says something wrong, he’s the first to say something about it. And she meant that in a good way.

But here’s the one that really got me. She said that the other kids are drawn to him. That when he’s talking, they are listening and responding. That was the coolest thing to hear.

I wanted to write The Green Hornet as a headline. But, I didn’t. Mostly because I’m guessing most of you, my loyal readers, have no idea who The Green Hornet is. Yup, I’m old.

Anyway, today is Tuesday, which means it’s pre-school day for Aidan. I’m the one who drops him off, and our little routine is quite cool. We get there, we put his backpack down, hang up his coat, play with some toys for a minute and then I go.

Sounds pretty innocent, doesn’t it?

Well, apparently something in that paragraph is starting to cause quite a stir at the pre-school. Which part? I’m glad you asked.

The part about hanging up his coat.

Well, I’m not saying Aidan can’t hang up his coat or doesn’t want to or any of that, so don’t think it’s about that.

It’s about the hanger he uses. I kid you not.

There’s 14 kids in the class, so the coat rack has about 16 hangers, all multi-color. Two of them are green. And a hideous kind of lime green at that.

Well, as of about three weeks ago, Aidan was totally digging the lime green hanger. I’m not really sure why, but that’s the one we always hung his coat up on. Because we’re always one of the first to get there, he’s always got a pretty good shot of getting one of the two apparently coveted green hangers.

The issue came to light today as Aidan and myself were at the rack, along with a woman and her daughter, Clare. They are always in the early arriving group, too, and Clare also loves the green hanger.

As we were hanging up the coats, one of the teachers made a comment about how all the kids love those two hangers.

“Well, I’m glad we weren’t here third today,” I said jokingly.

“Oh, that happened to us last week,” Clare’s mom sighed. She wasn’t joking. Apparently it wasn’t easy when Clare didn’t get the green hanger.

That’s when the teacher told us about last year’s incident. I guess hanger-gate got pretty intense in one class last year — so much that parents asked that they either have all green hangers or that they take them out completely.

The teacher didn’t give in, telling the parents, “We’re not doing that. We are going to deal with this.”

Some of you probably agree with her. Some of you probably disagree with her. I can see both sides of it, but for the point of taking a side, I’m with her — 100 percent standing behind her on this.

You know what, I’m done with you. You’ve wreaked so much havoc in my life. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you. Would you please go away for awhile?

Not that I wish bad on anyone, but, honestly, could you go bother someone else?

First it was my dad, eight years ago this month. This is always the time where I start to think about him a lot. How can I not? He clearly was suffering at the end before you took him. And that’s one reason why I don’t like you.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, you went and took my brother this year. And, OK, he probably didn’t suffer — but the unexpected side you bring to the table doesn’t make things any easier. I know that now. And, have you no timing? I mean, you do realize that my daughter was born five days before my brother died?

You have no class, death. No class.

I especially know that now. Why? Because you took an amazing woman from this earth yesterday. She wasn’t immediate family, but that doesn’t make this any easier. Diane battled cancer for more than 15 years. She was one of the strongest people we know. Beat it. Comes back. Beat it again. Back. Goes away. But, no, you can’t stay away. Not enough other things on your plate.

And, you know what, death? It was kind of fine for me to deal with you. I mean, I’ve had experience with you. I know how you work. Butt this time, while your latest move affects me, it really affects Renee.

Diane was Renee’s mentor, a colleague when Renee first started teaching back in 1992. She took a new teacher under her wing and a bond was formed. I came home last night and Renee was sobbing. All because of you, death. All because of you.

Diane was also our landlord. And, get this, we paid $330 a month rent. She wasn’t about making a buck. She was about making this world a better place. That doesn’t satisfy you, though. You go and take her. And for what? Because she was suffering? She beat it before. She’d beat it again. IF you gave her the chance.

I knew Diane before I knew her son, a man who I have called a friend for more than 10 years — despite that he’s both a Yankees and Steelers fan. He has four kids, Diane’s four grandchildren. What are you going to tell them, death? Speechless, aren’t you?

You know what you do to us, death? You make us stronger. You bring us together. You keep memories alive, not people.